The Fitting Room Blues

Yesterday I had it out with a bra in Walmart. This bra:

Yes. The "Genie" bra. "As seen on TV." According to Tristar Products (they rep the item), with the Genie Bra one can "enjoy all-day comfort and support."

Oh... really?

Well, I guess so. I mean, anything would be relatively comfortable after contorting yourself to get into the damn thing. (Side note: I just noticed how much I italicize when I'm pissed off or being sarcastic - in this case, both.)

If I dared, I would post pics of what I looked like trying to work my way into this contraption. I don't dare. I almost need sedatives to let my doctors see this body... But I'm getting ahead of myself, so let me back it up for a sec.

I went to Walmart specifically to buy a bra. After months of being in denial, I have accepted the fact that I've gained 63 pounds (yes, that much) and that my perky little 38B's have turned into 40C's. (I swear I believe that most of that is just re-positioned fat and not real titty. I dunno.) I have dreams about the day I can venture back into a Victoria's Secret store... For now, I am out of the market for cute bras like...

the "Scandalous Bandeau" from Free People
(my favorite style - EVER)

... and into plain black, white and tan blah-bras. I've even stopped caring about style. I'd wear a slingshot if it fit. (We won't even talk about "pannies" other than to say that I now wear only the boy-short variety. Also found at Walmart. In black, white and grey. I may never have sex with the lights on again. Why I am playing? I may never have sex again. Period.)

Anyway, bottom line is, I no longer wear underthings that can be described as "scandalous," "deliciously teasing," or even "minutely attractive in the barest and most common way possible..." Nope. In just a few months, my entire wardrobe has gone from Working-Gal-Funky to Homebody-Frump. Mature-and-Sexy to Old-and-Slumpy. It's hard to be attractive with this body and no money. Fat and broke. Damn.

Now, before I get my ass kicked by some other women, let me say something. I know there are the Big & Beautiful females who look damn good and can pull off sexy that will melt a man's shorts right off. I have those women in my own family. Being that way (being any way) takes a woman years of getting comfortable with her natural body. My natural body was a size 0 (teen-aged years to 20's), size 4 (20's to 30's), size 6 to 8 (30's to 50). I didn't feel really good and confident about my body until I was around 40. Seriously. I knew how to walk and sit and prance and dance - In. My. Natural. State.The size I am now, I can't even cross my legs without getting seriously out of breath. That's not sexy. Hell, that's damn near not even normal. Hate me if you want, but that's how I feel.)

Sorry to get off track. For a minute there, I forgot to tell you what happened in the fitting room at Walmart!

So, I'm browsing the aisles on my way to the underwear section when I see a display of the Genie Bra. My sister and I had been seeing the TV ads and wondering if these bras really were "all that."

The first thing I noticed was the price: $19.99. For 2 bras. That sounded pretty good since I was expecting to pay around $20 for one decent bra. (By the way, Frumpy is cheaper than Sexy.) The other thing I noticed is that the sizes were given as shirt sizes (i.e. "XS/S," "Large," etc.) instead of cup sizes.

I should have had a clue then. The chick on the cover of the box should have been the other clue. 

(Look at her. She's probably a real nice lady, but, oh, how I hate her at this moment.)

Being realistic (mostly) about my the current state of my body, I picked up a "Large" and headed back to the fitting rooms. The attendant/clerk name-tagged as "Sue" had attitude while she led me to a room (Cranky bitch. Acted like she was pissed about having a job.)

Now, the bra itself is not awful looking. Just kind of plain-janey.

Notice that this is a "pull-over" style. That's tricky if you don't want to muss a hairdo. My hair is short & natural, so no problem for me there. My problem was that whoever determined the sizes on these bras might have been a tailor for Barbie dolls at some point. This thing barely fit over my head. No way was I going to try pulling it over my boobs. 

I wanted to ask "Sue" to bring me the next size up, but when I peeked out the fitting room door, she glared at me like I owed her money. (Again - bitch.) I might owe every-damn-body else in the world, but not this heffa.

Skip to size 1x, 2x and 3x. I brought them all back to the fitting room. 

The 1x - no go. It got stuck partway over my head. I forced it anyway, got it over my boobs and almost lost consciousness. I thought I'd have to cut my way out of it, but managed to escape without scissors. Somehow.

2x. I got it over my head okay. Whew. Got it over my boobs with same results as above (except I could take small gasps of air). The bra was on! I couldn't move much and I'm pretty sure that my already high blood-pressure was on the rise. I was kind of relieved about being in the bra at last until I noticed that the bottom part was rolling up. That really hurt my feelings. I never felt so fat. The more that fabric rolled up, the more I felt like a sausage whose casing was coming apart.

3x. Better body fit, but...

Now I noticed the real problem with the Genie Bra: the cup sizes were all the same!

Son-of-a-boogeyman.

I matched the cups of all three sizes and - yep. Same cup size, no matter what. Basically, even if you manage to get the contraption over your head and onto your body, it does you no good if you have more than a handful of boob. I always had and still have a handful - for a good sized pair of hands, but what about someone who is truly blessed? Poor thing would look like she had a frontal hump instead a nice rack. And on top of that, she'd be in cardiac arrest from being squeezed to death.

On the positive side (uh, yeah), for anyone who can fit into the Genie Bra, I will say that it seems very sturdy. The colors are decent and the bras come with removable padding, which is nice for laundry purposes. And, again, you can't beat the price.

Damn Genie Bra. Obviously, the thing is made for a well-endowed doll. I was pretty depressed because there was a time - like a year ago - when I could have fit this bra and worked the heck out of it.

...Sigh...

When I left the fitting room, there was old "Sue." Cow. Just to be spiteful, I stood right near her station and called the manager to complain about her attitude. She ignored me, then rubbed it in by being super sweet to another customer. I hope she gets an all-day toothache. (And, by the way, did you know that Walmart posts the manager's number all around the store? Handy.)

Whatever.

I ended up buying a few $5.98 bras in different colors by Simply Basic

On my way out, I stopped by the display just to take a peek at what a size XS/S looked like. I left the store feeling damn near suicidal.

Peace

--Free

Breast Check Reminder

Ladies, this is the best breast-check reminder ever:
I just about broke my phone trying to download the app.

Peace
--Free

What's Wrong With Being "Old-Fashioned"?

I am a little bit sad and a whole lot happy to say that one of the BFF's - "T" -  is "in love." Let's not think about the fact that I am jealous as hell. (By the way, I told her that and she laughed, so we're okay with it.) What I like most about T's love groove is that it's old-fashioned. The slow courtship, the falling deep, the whole thinking-about-the-future thing - it's just something I haven't seen a lot of for a long time. Matter of fact, my mom and dad's relationship was the last old-school kind of  love I'd personally known of.

I was telling all of this to a younger (40-something to my 50 years) lady. I'm thinking that, since we come from a similar cultural background and aren't a thousand years apart in age, she would understand what I meant. She didn't.

I explained to her that, to me, old-fashioned meant showing respect when approaching a person. Courting them with some real kindness and sweetness before you put on all the intimate moves. Learning to like them before you start sizing up what kind of house or car or job or bank account they have. Trying to see how you might fit into their life before you invade their life. In other words, just taking things a little slow. I mean, what's wrong with the whole, "I like you, do you like me?" kind of approach? That's way better than the usual, "Hey, baby, you looking so fine." Hell, it's more mature than that.

My friend looked at me like I was Jim Jones holding out a cup of Kool-Aid.

"Are you serious?" she asked me. (And she was serious.)

"Yes, I'm serious. Don't you want something real and mature and hopeful," I asked her. "Or do you want the sorry old pickup lines, lies and too fast to be good kind of thing?"

"Tell you what I want," she said. "I want a man with a job - a good job. He's got to look good, and he's got to have some swagger. You can keep that old-fashioned mess for yourself."

"So, you don't care if a man respects you or cherishes you - as long as he looks good and has bank?"

"Not only do I not care, I don't give a real good damn."

Well, at least she's honest. (You might notice that she is not one of my best friends.)

We talked about it a little bit more. Basically, she wants a image, not a man. She wants whoever looks good to anybody who might notice. I didn't ask, but I wonder what she'd be willing to put up with to have that in a man? I mean, could he beat her ass? Could he not really even care about her as a person?

I see so many women these days (my age and younger) who are into that "I gotta have a man" mode. They don't care if it's a good and decent man or not. One lady I know actually admitted to me that she does not feel "complete" without a man. What the hell is that about? I mean, to me, there is a difference in feeling "complete" and feeling "completed." I think we all want to feel completed. But, no, this friend says that she just doesn't want to be alone. To top it all, her preferred "type" is one with (I swear, she told me and another friend this) "A little bit of 'thug' in him." She's fifty-three years old, so this is not a youthful phase she's going through. I believe she's just a little bit crazy.

There are other people I know who have settled down with someone they are not happy with. They stay because it's "safe" inside a relationship. Or they stay because of kids - which I don't know how I feel about that. I mean, I think stay for the kids, but sometimes I wonder what good is an unhappy parent? You might be teaching your kids about commitment, but what are you teaching them about joy? So, that's a tough one and I change my mind every few days or so. But I really hate people who are just in a relationship only for the sex or money or laziness. Why be in a relationship if your soul isn't?

That's not what old-fashioned love is about. At least, not the way I know it. All I have to go on is my parents' relationship. (And let me disclose that my parents ended up divorcing, but they remained friends and never stopped respecting each other. Not ever.)

My father was an Air Force man. He was from small-town Arkansas. He was raised to love and respect his parents, especially his mother. (My mother always said to look for a man who loves his mothers and sisters. That didn't work out with my ex, but that's just him.)

My mother was a beautiful woman. She was a very maternal kind of person, if that makes sense. She loved to care for my dad and their family. She felt like he was the man and should be allowed to feel like a man. (Please, don't give me any feminist crap here. A woman can be strong without trying to out-man her man.)

My parents were a team. My father let my mother be good at what she was good at and she returned the favor. Sometimes, Mom was good at things that most men are "supposed" to be good at. For instance, Mom ran our finances. Daddy used to say that Mom could make a dollar out of fifteen cents. He'd give her the little bit of spending money (and G.I.s didn't make a whole lot of money) and always be amazed at what she could do with it. He loved to brag about how Mom could feed and clothe eight people (there are six of us siblings) and make it look so easy.

My dad, bless his heart, was not one of those men who was mechanically inclined - or whatever you call people who can repair and upkeep things. The big joke in our family was that whenever my dad did take something apart to fix it - say, a lawn mower - there'd be parts left over when he put it back together. (Believe it or not, most of time, whatever he fixed did work afterwards!) Now, I say it was a big joke, but it was a silent joke. My mother would have (as she'd put it) slapped the taste out of our mouth if one of us said anything to Daddy about his workmanship. She would look the lawn mower, or whatever, and go on and on about how "her man" could take care of stuff like that. She'd be acting like he had adjusted the world on Atlas's shoulders.

And they just loved each other. Just that simple. It wasn't anything complicated, as far as I could tell - just love.

I used to watch my parents do that thing where lovers look at each other across the table or a room. I didn't understand it until I fell in love myself for the first time, but I always know that that look means you've got something special with someone. My inner gauge for how I feel about someone now is when I want to give them that look. (Well, that, or when I get that melting feeling in my stomach when I think of them. With my first serious boyfriend, I knew I was feeling something the day I fell down some stairs while I was thinking about him. It happened at school. He'd been nowhere on my mind until we passed each other in the hallway just before I had to take the stairs to my own class. I was feeling so goofy-good! Man, when I went down those stairs, ending up with my skirt all up around my waist, I think I dang near busted my ass... The worst thing wasn't the falling, it was thinking how stupid I'd look to him if he saw. I couldn't even think about it and him at the same time without feeling so embarrassed.) Anyway.

So, I just want that old-fashioned kind of love. I want the man who is attracted to me, then begins to like me, then begins to want to know me better. I want the man who just wants to spend time with me because he likes being with me. I want to make him laugh, feel good about himself and feel good about life. And I want him to feel the same way about me.

Trust me, I've known the smooth talker. That didn't work because words alone won't sustain love. I've known the rich guy. That didn't work because money won't sustain respect. I've known the guy that pretended to be everything he really was not. That didn't work because real love can't be based on deceit. Real love is honest and maybe a little painful. It's awkward and it can be confusing and even kind of scary.

Old-fashioned, new-fashioned. Maybe it doesn't really matter as long as we find something real. I think my BFF has found that. That heffa!.

(I love you, T. Be happy.)

Peace
--Free

Working the Phones

Sitting here stuck on the phone - holding, holding and holding - and playing around with G+ while fighting a really strong craving for a cigarette. (Oh, and my doc, who I do love to pieces, has no-no'ed my taking a higher amount of Wellbutrin.)

The G crowd have been trying to help me out with phone choices. I was due for my upgrade, but I am still broke as a dropped glass. I picked (no surprise coming) the Samsung Infuse. Mainly because it only cost me a penny, no shipping, no upgrade fees. I had that or the Captivate to choose from. A penny, no shipping, no upgrade fees. (Hey! Right in my budget of... a penny!)

I'm a little bit scared now, though. Made my choice, put in the order, and NOW I'm hearing some crappy stuff about it. Too freaking late. If it drives me crazy when I get it, I will have the grace period to change my mind. The way I figure, it cannot be anywhere near as bad as that Motorola Backflip I once had.

Oh, wait. Did I ever blog about that? If so, I'll hit that rant again because it will never get old. Not as long as that electronic demon-thing still exists.

The Backflip. Where do even start?

This phone was so awful that when I took it into the AT&T store here in town, one of the reps saw me coming and said, "Keep that thing away from me. It's cursed." (I was really looking pretty fine that day, too. The rep was a cutie himself. I'd been hoping he was going to crook his finger and say something Marvin Gaye-ish. Nooo... That man saw that Backflip and looked like he was ready to throw holy water on me.)

Yeah, that bad.

Soon as I told him I was there to return The Thing, the rep and I had a whole comedic routine going. We decided that the Backflip was so bad that it could actually poison anything else within about 10 feet. The rep warned me not to put it in my purse or it would make my money disappear. (Um, too late - the ex did that already.)

"Don't hold it, lady. You don't have gloves on!" (heh  heh) He actually took it from me only after getting a tissue to hold it with. The way he looked at it, it could have been slime from a crime scene.

Yeah, that bad.

Of course, I had to go through all my complaints for the rep before I could process a free replacement. That was easy. All I had to do was look at the list of what any decent cell phone should do, at minimum, (things like dial, ring, hang up...) and scratch it off the list. This phone was so bad that sometimes the only way to disconnect a call (if you were able to make the call) was to take out the battery. I'm not playing with you.

Uh huh. That freaking bad.

And, of course, whenever a customer complains about a phone (even when the rep knows you're not exaggerating), they have to run it through its paces. Just to make sure. Okay, so the rep dials a number. The call goes through (and I'm thinking, "Son of a boot!"). Then... the phone won't disconnect. Woooow!  I just about started shouting like I was in church. Vindication,  oh sweet vindication!

So, yeah. That's how bad the Backflip was. Even Motorola didn't want it back. They knew they wouldn't be able to pass that piece of crap off even as a three dollar re-furb. (The rep admitted to me that AT&T had stopped displaying the phone about a month after it came out. THAT BAD!!!)

Anyway. I am hoping the new phone won't be a lemon. Even if it is and will only dial numbers beginning with "8" on Wednesdays between 6 a.m. and 6:55 a.m. when it's sunny out with no chance of rain - it cannot be as bad as the Backflip.

Yeah. It really was that bad.

I will have to let you know later how the new phone works out (if it works at all). For now, I have moved up in the call-holding queue to spot number 3. Pray someone comes on the line soon, because if I hear Barry Manilow's "Mandy" again, I'm going to smoke a piece of carpet.

Peace
--Free

Day In the Life of A "G"

I'm about as "G" as Oprah. I got swagger, but not street swagger. I can't even go into Mountainview without locking down the doors. And Mountainview (our version of the 'Hood) is nothing like rolling into the hard side of Phoenix or South Oak Cliff. The one time I passed through Oakland, I almost fainted when some guy walked up on me to ask what time it was. I was damn near ready to clutch my pearls... So, yeah. I'm about as G as Carlton from Fresh Prince. No shame in my game.

(Now, how in the hell did I go off on that rant? That's not even what I logged in to blog about...)

Oh, I know where I meant to go with that thought: I'm not a G, but, I am a G Plusser.

Okay. I'm kind of back on track now. (This is just how my mind works these days!)

Sooo... I'm taking some time (after my morning exercise) to catch up on my Adds overon G+. When people add you to their circles, I think it's kind of rude to wait too long getting back to them. Even if I'm going to "ignore" them. Best they know right off.

I am "meeting" some very cool folks. Artists and photographers (I know what I like); Scholars (I might not understand it all, but, damn! Smart is sexy); Christians (my brothers & sistas); Non-believers (still my brothers & sistas - long as there is mutual respect); Funsters (yeah, they are there) and Munsters (hmmm).

Today is a strange one. I am not only checking in online, but I am busy with other stuff, but mostly around the house and on the phone and digging through some stored things.

Because.

I am ...

Going to make an attempt to write again.

Yeah, that's right. This G is going to use this down time to at least try to do something that might help my brain work better. I'm not even thinking that anything I write is going to make sense (I mean, look at this post I'm writing), but it gives me something to think about other than smoking.

Also today is a day to get some of my financial papers in order. And personal stuff, like trying to get the divorce started.

Wow.

That's a painful word.

Divorce.

This means I thought we loved each other (and maybe we did), but love doesn't cover everything (not the nasty, bitter words and names I've had to hear) and everything doesn't cover love (not good sex, bad sex, not wishing and wanting, and not fear of being alone).

Yeah, so.

I guess it could be more painful. It would have been, way back when I first left. I hadn't even realized that it's been over 3 years of physical separation and almost a year of total separation.

Wow.

Do I feel hesitant? No. Maybe back when I thought there was even a sliver of hope that things would get better, could get better. But not after he just wasn't there when I was at my lowest.

I remember when I first got sick. I had gotten out of the hospital but the meds were really doing things to my emotions. Even with my family surrounding me and trying to keep me together, I felt like he should have been here. No matter what the cost, the way, the what-the-hell-ever - he should have been able to pull himself together to be here for me. And he wasn't.

While I was feeling like my whole world had really come apart at the seams, he was somewhere drunk and helpless and probably sleeping with someone else. And all I could think was how I had never been helpless when he'd needed me. I had been the one to work and pull our shit together. I was the one who was willing to turn my back on my family and friends to be with him. I was the one who gave him my body, my mind, my heart, my money, my jewelry, my love, my love, my love. I'm beginning to think I gave him my health. God knows the stress I went through for 3 years could not have been good for what was obviously fermenting inside my body. I gave him everything I had to give and he couldn't be there for me.

So.

Anyway, I fell out of love with him before all that happened, but I stopped loving him when that happened. Now, I don't feel much of anything. (Is that cold or hard of me?) I don't wish him ill luck or anything. Matter of fact, I kind of hope that he has found someone to be with. No one should be alone, and I sure don't intend to be. The idea of divorce is painful because it means that I failed myself.

My life now has to be about getting completely healthy and whole. And if I mess around and find myself in love again, well isn't that what it's all about? If there is no love, there really is no purpose. Love makes everything else real.

Okay, now that my thoughts have skipped to the freaking lou all over the place, I need to shut down and get back to my half-assed multi-tasking.

Peace
--Free

Oh, yeah - because I'm sappy and always emotional, I have to include some music. How about a little Aretha? This song is kind of how I feel all the time...

Life's A Beautiful Mess

My life is becoming a freaking nightmare. So much has happened to me today. At least two things anyway.

And I don't mean to complain about my life, but I can't help it. Maybe I shouldn't call my life a nightmare. Maybe it's just a bad daydream (is that possible?) and I'll wake up with drool on my chin and my world intact... For the time being though, my life kind of sucks.

One thing that happened was a job that almost was. I got all excited about it because God knows I've been  hoping and praying for something good to break: better health, some strength, good love... At this point, I'd even settle for better problems.

Today, out of the blue, opportunity knocked in the form of a potential job offer. Great job, great people, within my comfort zone, but... out of my damn zip code.

What happened was, an old friend of mine (actually a guy who once proposed to me) got in touch today. I will call him "Lou." Said I'd been on his mind for some reason (yeah, there has to be a reason because he's now married to someone else, damnit) and he hunted me down because he had news. The news is that a friend of ours is working for an old boss of ours (seriously) and, while traveling, ran into Lou in Denver airport and got to talking about old times and old friends. Somehow, my name came up (I don't want to think about how). This guy mentioned to Lou that he wished he knew where I was because I'd be "perfect" for a position  coming open in the company.

I was kind of excited at this point  - partly just because of hearing from "Lou" (why'd I pick a fake name that I hate for a guy I used to be so crazy about?) and partly because of the possible job. And I was a little scared because I still hadn't told Lou about my current medical issues. Like me, Lou talks a mile a minute. It's probably why we were always so hot for each other. No, that's not why. I think it was his eyes. I have a thing for eyes.

Anyway.

Lou goes on and on, telling me about this job and the company... Oh, it was just going to be such a good thing for me. Working for an old boss I really respected. Perfect because of the whole supply chain tie-in with my customs brokerage experience, my experience as a trainer, and yah, yah, yah. And, oh yeah, because our former colleague is in pretty tight with all the 'suits' at this company. He's practically one of the suits, except he's just not a suit kind of guy. The only possible downer is I'd be up against another really sharp guy within the company who was hooking for the position. Then again, I do have 15 years with a freight giant. This sh*t was getting complicated.

I digress. I always do.

When Lou took a breath, I asked which local hub I'd be working out of (as if I'm already hired because I get these bursts of confidence that make me know I can fly without wings). I don't mind either of the two major hubs, but I hate the small one and I loathe any office-based brokerage. I'd rather be around the actual freight and near the on-site Customs agents.

Good news! The job's not at the small hub or at an office brokerage.

Bad news :-( The damn job's in Tulsa. Tulsa's not in Alaska.

You ever have one of those rollercoaster kind of moments? So high you can hardly breathe, then dropping so fast you get stomach cramps?

Yeah.

And why?

Because I am terrified. Terrified that my brain doesn't work right anymore. Terrified of failing, falling, freaking the hell out. And terrified of being terrified.

The worst thing is, I had like a manic moment of panic and broken-ness right there on the phone. I started babbling about everything and anything except the job. Of course, Lou knows me well enough. Don't you hate that? When someone knows you so well that you can't cover fear or shame?

My secret is out with Lou. I told him what's happened to me. We spent about two hours on the phone. He gets it. He gets why I'm scared. He gets why I'm feeling so closed into myself. I even sent him a pic in Messenger because he just refused to believe I'm rolling my fat ass around, packing 200 pounds! (Bless him, he lied and told me I am still beautiful. Bless me, I told him he was a lying shit, but I love him anyway.) And how I miss Lou. Man, I really effed things up by letting him get away. At least his wife sounds like a keeper. She better be since he deserves only the best. (And, for those wondering what happened with me and Lou and the proposal, there's a reason I declined. Lou and I would have been terrible together. We're too much alike. I need someone like me, but not like me.)

Like I said, my life is a nightmare. It's going to get better.  Lou told me two important things today. One was that sometimes life is a mess, but just the fact that we are still here to live it makes it a beautiful mess. (See what I mean about this man?) The other thing he told me is that I might ought to be thankful for what I'm going through. He says that something wonderful could come out of it all.

So, I am going to keep praying and exercising and not smoking and doing all the little brain games. Maybe Lou is right about something wonderful coming out of this beautiful mess of mine.

Oops.

I almost forgot to mention the other thing that happened today. My bestest friend (J) called me because she knows I'm having this random period-like situation, complete with some cramps (I didn't answer because I was sleeping through the cramps and a cigarette craving, holding a hot pack to my stomach and praying I get in touch with my doc to raise the dose of my Wellbutrin before I start smoking pieces of carpet). The thing about me and my phone is that I'm always leaving it in another room or accidentally muting the ringer. All three of my best friends (J, B, and T) know this about me. They also know I'm kind of loopy these days and they worry about me. If I don't answer my  phone, I get a voice mail warning to call or text them back. I don't call or text back within a half hour or so, my family starts getting calls. It's a little embarrassing, but I love those bitches.

Anyway, when I didn't answer the phone, J left me a silly message, doing her vocal interpretation of Tammy Wynette's "Hard To Be A Woman." She called my sister later and found out I was okay. I woke up and listened to her really, really bad singing on my voice mail at least three times. I forwarded it to the other two Besties. Then I went back to sleep. LOL (I know my friends & somewhere in Houston and in Amsterdam there are a couple of women trying to decide if they are going to upload J's vocals to YouTube.)

Peace
--Free

And, remember...

Randomness

I haven't bothered with my old blog where I used to post different sites from around the web. I miss it a little, so here's some random stuff for you:

Brie-cicles... She's Joy, she's a baker. The site's amazing. The  brie-cicles are my favorite.  Bookmark her site.

Portable Apps... Found this site of cool sites on a G+ post. Been hooked since then. Go and explore.

Count your calories, or... let Calorie Count do it for you. I'm doing the whole getting my fat-a$$ into shape thing. I'm using other resources I'll school you on, but this is my fave for checking nutrition labels. (And, no, you don't have to sign up to use, but it would be nice & will give you greater access to the tools there.)

My Fitness Pal... is, so far, my favorite online fitness journal source. For one thing, there is an accompanying phone app that actually works on my Blackberry. For another, it seems a little more user-friendly than the others I have tried so far. Of course, that's me, you might like one of these others...

• FitDay - Has iPhone app. Kind of pushes the premium services. 
• Live Strong - Can use Facebook to connect (boo, hiss). Partner of the Lance Armstrong Foundation. 
• Everyday Health - has "My Calorie Counter" buried in the site. (I started out using this one but switched to Fitness Pal.) MCC is in midst of changes, so it's not very user-friendly. I found it difficult to navigate through the different menus... So, meh, your call.
• Calorie Count (mentioned above) - has same tools as most of these sites. I haven't tried them yet.

That's a start, but there are others I haven't even really looked at (My Food Diary, My Net Diary, Fit Click & so on... my oh my!)

Well, I had a few more items to add, but I got carried away with the food diaries. Now I have to go and deal with my offline life, so I will try to get back another time and add more random things.

Peace
--Free

Oh... Screeech!!! Back up, back up...

I forgot to add Ideeli - a shopping site. Tho I am too dang broke to shop there (yet), I have fallen in love with their purses and boots. (I get weak for 3 things other than a good man: perfume, purses & boots, yes ma'am). Ideeli doesn't do fragrances, but that's what Sephora's is for. Meantime, are these boots just too freaking hot to trot??? Then again, I'm no longer the clothes whore I was as a younger woman!

I am a little disappointed in the Shoe section. Nothing simple-sexy-classic - just a bunch of clunky looking things. No one makes a really pretty heel anymore...

Anyway, Ideeli has most of what you'd want to browse for. I didn't check out the jewelry - jewelry is personal & I don't like to glob it on;each piece should be really special. There are plenty of known "labels," if that's your thing. BTW - it's a "join" site, but you don't have to do so just to browse.
Enjoy.

   

Materialistic Moments

It is taking me forever to write this post and get it ready to "publish." It's a little project of mine where I share some of my moments of materialism.

I am a pretty low-maintenance kind of woman (in my more, ahem, mature years) and I long ago got over the notion of money buying happiness. But. I am woman, watch me shop! LOL Actually, I can't and don't really even want to shop til I drop, but this is a game an old friend and I liked to play. We called it dream shopping. We'd pick a specific type of item and then dream about what we'd buy if money were no object. The irony is that we did this when we were sometimes supposed to be working. (We were on the night shift and things often got slow. Had to find some way to kill the time!) It was such fun. I haven't heard from that particular friend in a long time, but our little game is still a fun way to pass the time.

Today's dream subject: perfumes, perfumes, perfumes...

Ahh, what can I say? This is the maker of the most fabulous fragrance ever.

I cannot even describe to you what this scent makes me feel. (You know I belong to the Guerlain site!) There was a time when I had over 15 Shalimar bottles and holders. I hope they are still in my storage, but I believe the man I was married to got rid of them...

Then there was this wonderful scent. The funny thing is, I could only ever find it in miniature sizes. Great fragrance though, and way more (and I do mean waaaay more) affordable than Shalimar. 

Flori Roberts "Gold" fragrance was a winner. I'd have men and women stop to ask what scent I was wearing and where I got it from. Sadly, the scent is discontinued. I couldn't even find a picture of the bottle or box. The pic I'm including is from another F.R. product with a similar looking box. I'm so sad...

I have to explain this one since it is a men's cologne. Somewhere on this blog I have previously posted on how I feel about smelling this scent on a man. Oh. My. Good. Mercy. This is the most intense scent. Ever. I loved this so much that one Christmas I gave the women in my brothers' lives a gift by giving all the guys this cologne. Yes, the ladies were very happy. I even got some for myself. I'd spray it on my pillow and sheets just because it smelled so good. (Okay, and because at the time I was single and just liked having that masculine smell around. LOL) So, yeah, this one is on my dream list.

Laugh if you want, but there was a time when I was all about some Charlie. I had a bottle on my dresser, one in my purse, one in my desk drawer at work, and, yes ma'am, I kept a bottle in my car. I was more "Charlie" than Shelley Hack - and not only was she the model for the fragrance, but she ended up being one of  the "Charlie's Angels." Shoot, you couldn't tell me nothin' about some Charlie... And it was right up there with another favorite:

Emeraude. I still wear this stuff. For one thing, I can afford it and, for another thing, even if I couldn't, I bought so much when I could I still have some! Love it, love it, love it. If only it had more of an oil base and lasted on me more than half and hour. Still, classic.

I won't keep posting the pics. It's tedious because you know I forget what the hell I'm doing half the time. (I just realized I had a couple of pics that have nothing to do with this post, but I kept trying to insert them... Ah, well.)

Other perfumes (or colognes) I have loved: Dune, Hynotic Poison (not the orginal sickening, choke-a-horse crap) and Opium (yum). This one here is also a favorite, but I hate the bottle design.

Yep. It's "Angel." One of the BFF's (Barb) with her bougie ass got me hooked on this one. I think she even got me my first bottle. Then that heffa moved away and I had to support my own habit!

Now here are some scents that I wouldn't be caught alive wearing. I don't believe even my worst enemy would squirt any on me when I'm dead. I mean, what the heck???

Isn't this just insane? Of course this is not a perfume I would buy. I mean, I wouldn't even want this on my dresser... (Okay, maybe if my potential man was into it. I'd agree to keep it hidden somewhere in a lingerie drawer!) Anyway... I remember now that I had heard of products under this name a few years back. There was an uproar by concerned parents and such. The name, by the way, stands for "French Connection U.K." I have a problem getting things past my brain, so I always first see the wrong word - you know, the "bad" word. Silly world, huh?

Surprisingly, Britney Spears' fragrance is not that bad. It's not for my body chemistry, but it smells really nice on my niece. (She is embarrassed that it's from Britney so she hides it in the very bottom of her purse. Idiot.)

Other than Emeraude, I have in my possession (only because I stockpiled when I had a JOB and something called "disposable income"): Hypnotic Poison, Queen (Latifah's really nice fragrance), Halle (a feel-better gift from fam) and like half a drop of Shalimar perfume left in one of the bottles that survived my marriage. I won't even use the Shalimar. I just sniff the bottle every now and then to make myself feel better. LOL

Of course, there are some nasty (in my opinion, of course) scents. You know the ones, those that smell like scented rubbing alcohol, a too-sweet candle,  or (yuk) burning butt. Some scents are nice until the person wearing them decides to suffocate the rest of the world with it -  like some chick in Safeway the other day. I don't think I have ever smelled a fragrance that sugary. And she must have wanted to get rid of a stalker since she apparently soaked in it. It was way horrible. I didn't get closer than ten feet of her and I up with that stench on me. (I am so serious. I got home and my sister asked, "Are you on a new medicine?" Wow.)

Anyway... I hope I gave you a new way to pass the time. Go ahead, dream about what you would buy if you could. In this economy, dreaming is about all most of us can afford to do.

Peace
--Free

This Diet Thing

So... Can't remember (without looking at notes) when exactly I started working on the diet & exercise routine, but yesterday I joined an online community where I am able to track my progress. What surprises me most is that I didn't meet my goal of 1850 calories. I only made it to 991.

Me? Not make my daily calories?

I almost fell over when I looked at my daily total. I not only missed my calorie intake goal by almost 600, but I burned over 1500 in my exercise. Crazy, right?

I knew how many calories I'd been burning, but I really believed I was eating way more calories during the day. I am going to have to be careful. I don't want to pass out somewhere.Wouldn't that be hilarious? The woman who was trying to eat the world just a couple of months ago...

At the rate I'm going, I am hoping to be back in really good shape by the time we get warmer weather. It will not only be much easier to do some outdoor walking, but I won't have to layer down in clothes to cover all this fat.

Vain as it may be - I cannot wait to wear cute clothes and shoes again. I'll probably just stand in front of a mirror naked for the first few days! I haven't even wanted to look at my body for almost a year. It's going to be nice to have a waistline again.

Yep, Spring is coming up all over the place.

Peace

--Free

My Mama Was Right...

... About a LOT of things. That dawns on me more and more as each day of my life unfolds.


 For instance, Mom always said that people need to learn the difference between friends and acquaintances. It took me a while, but that one sunk in when I was in high school. I had a habit of claiming almost anyone I met as a friend. Whenever some random person ended up disappointing me, Mom would repeat herself about friends vs acquaintances. I'm glad because the friends I have happen to be very few but very true.

Another of Mom's lessons was to be kind to everyone because you don't know what anyone is going through. This is proved out by a really deep friendship I have now. The friend and I are so opposite on the surface that I wasn't sure about her at first. Now that we are friends, I've learned that, around the time we first met, she was going through one of the darkest times in her life and was almost to the point of giving up. I was feeling pretty worthless myself, thanks to the abusive relationship I was in. The funny thing is, what brought my friend and I together was sharing laughter and not misery. I didn't even realize she was unhappy until later on.

Even the broken relationship of my marriage is helped by Mom's advice. I will never be able to be with that man again, but I don't hate him.  He's not a bad person, he just has things to deal with that make him the way he is.

Mom also told me that doing wrong does not go unpaid. I'd get this talk from her when I was sure that someone had treated me wrong. Mom wouldn't agree or disagree, she'd just tell me that I was learning from my own experience how NOT to treat people. She'd say that no one gets away with hurting others - not in the long run. At the time, I thought she was talking about how bad people would be judged by God in the end of it all. What I learned later on in life is that evil, cruel or just "bad" people are re-paid in life - by the life they live. Think about it: people who are truly "bad" cannot be truly happy. Happiness does not breed anything bad.

One of the strangest things my mother said to me a long time ago (and I have to paraphrase and piece this together the best my bad memory will allow me!) happened after she went on a little day cruise during a vacation. At the time, I was making pretty good money, but Mom, my sister and I were also raising the four kids. During this vacation that Mom and I were on, I was stressing the whole money thing. Our vacation budget was so tight that I was scared to do anything not planned. Well, mom wanted to go on a day cruise. No, let me stop fronting and say this: Mom WENT on a day cruise because that's what she wanted to do. Later on, when I was being all passive-aggressive, letting her know how she had strained the wallet, she gave me a talking to. (Remember now, I am a grown-ass woman at the time!) She told me that it's important to be careful with money but not to the point of being miserly. No matter how broke you are, you have to enjoy life. The important thing, in her opinion: not to get attached to either poverty or wealth.

I am glad that I listened to my mother. Because of the things she taught me, I have lived well, made great friends, survived really horrible things, and been able to (mostly) smile through it all.

I miss my mother every day.

Peace
--Free

First Moves

It's 4:30 in the morning. I'm wide awake.

My best friend and I were up really late talking. About men.

Men. They really are hard to figure out.

My friend and I are both in situations where we have what we are calling our "Grown folk crushes." And neither one of us can figure out what the objects of our crushes are thinking.

This is some hilarious stuff. To be grown and still not able to "get" what a man has going on in his head...

What do men think? Do they worry that if they are attracted to you, they have to wait to make sure you are attracted to them? Why are their signals so subtle?

Yeah. So. J and I have decided (because we are women and always logical) that both our crushes are just as nervous as we are about approaching someone they like. Makes sense. No one wants to risk being deflected. No one wants to make the first move.

So. What to do? What to do?

J has made up her mind to make the first move. Easy for her. If she gets cut off at the pass (get it?) she doesn't have to see her crush again. Embarrassing but survivable. She can lick her wounds, come tell mama-pal all about it, have some ice-cream and move on. Eventually.

Me. Hah. I'd have to feel like crawling under a rock in shame every time I saw my crush. Or move away. Or just will myself numb and blind and completely undisturbed every time I saw him.

Wow. You think that as you get older, you get wiser, right? Well, that ain't happening over here.

Before we hung up, J asked me the world's stupidest question: "What's the worst that could happen?"

What is she? New to the planet? The worst that could happen is that I end up mortified and frozen on the spot. Just end up standing there, rooted to the spot, mouth hanging open while I try to think of a way to act like I wasn't telling someone that I am attracted to them. I mean, how do you play that off? Say something like, "Oh, okay, so... heh heh. Yeah.... All right. Um..."? See, I'm good at most social situations, but I really don't think I could pull that off without looking like I need rehab for the critically stupid.

Bottom line is, I haven't decided what to do yet. I am the queen of proud. There is almost no way I would set myself up for that kind of humiliation. Almost no way. I might get a burst of crazy and just blurt everything out the next time I get the chance. Tell you what though, J better have ice-cream and sugar cones ready. And not just the regular old sugar cones, but those really nice waffle-y kind - the ones coated on the inside with chocolate. And maybe some Snickers bars. I can't survive crushing (really, did I say crushing) disappointment without caloric comfort.

Whatever happens, I will let you know. Because if I'm going to go down in flames, I might as well write about it.

Peace
--Free

A G+ friend posted this song I had not listened to in a while. It's really the kind of song you hum to yourself when you are crushing on someone. (Etta James' "At Last" doesn't come til your are out of crush stage and into the getting-to-know-ya stage.)



(And, by the way, that whole "women always logical" thing? You know that was just a joke, right? Of course you did.)

Getting Healthy for Summer

Um, so...

I am seriously back in "Gotta" mode.

Gotta kick this cigarette habit, gotta lose this weight, gotta get myself thinking straight so I can get back to work.

Hell, I even feel like I gotta do something with the crazy hair of mine. You might think that's silly and vain, but, trust me, I look like a hot Edward-Scissorhands-is-my-stylist mess. Really. It is that bad.

The exercising is going well. I'm a little frightened by how well. I keep thinking that I'm starting off so good that there's nowhere to go but down. (I am so cheerful these days!) Anyway, here are pics (aka: PROOF) of my stats from the past few days...


This (on the left) was actually NOT my best day. I have proof from my family that I did an hour once. Funny thing is, the calories for that hour were about the same as for the 45 minutes.

Not so bad. Did it all to Chaka Khan & Etta James.

For some reason, THIS dang near killed me!

I am missing some pics from my camera. Think I stored them to different places. But, anyway, you can see I am making an attempt at the exercise.

Dieting is extremely easy. I am a proud person, so I don't like to eat food that's not mine. Also, I've gotten so picky lately about what I like. Kind of back to the yogurt and cereal phase. I am listening to my doctor and trying to fit proteins in there.

The cigarettes? That's just insane. I'm  not slipping up and smoking, but I am so cranky that no one wants to be around me...

Oh, and the hair situation? Not sure about that yet. I will either break down & relax it (and risk having to make an emergency trip to my friend Sharon to have her fix it) - OR... I will leave it natural and add some length with a weave. I'm not good at doing self-weaving, just so ya know.

As for getting primed back up for work, I tried going over one of the old Broker's Exams the other day. Totally depressing! Every answer, every concept was right there on the edge of my mind... I actually even forgot how to code garments. Like I didn't clear imports for fifteen freaking years!!!

The best I can do is stay hopeful and hope everything gets better. Something wonderful is going to come out of this nightmare, I just know it.

Here is hoping that you guys are all staying healthy or getting there.

Peace
--Free

Doctors, Staff. Patients & Patience

(Note to readers: Not posting as much because I have some trouble putting my writing together lately. I have to write things out longhand before typing them. The Sarcoidosis makes it hard to put the thoughts and words together spontaneously - though, surprisingly enough, I can still type pretty well. The writing and proofing on paper has got to be good for keeping my abilities up. I hope I can get it finished and posted soon.)

Anyone who knows me has heard me speak about my doctor. I know that there are many, many excellent physicians, but my doctor is the best one for me. I truly believe that God put me in his care when I fell sick with the Sarc. For one thing, I have always hated having to see a doctor and  had never been hospitalized before. I was terrified at the idea of being that ill, and everything was very confusing to me at the time. My doctor is "new" enough that he is still passionate about his calling and tireless in the pursuit of it. On top of that, he is just a good and decent person.

Having said that, I have to admit that I am probably the worst kind of patient! I'm scatter-brained (somewhat by nature and somewhat by Sarc) and can be difficult. I don't always readily follow the doctor's orders and I am sometimes resistant to common sense.

Still, my doctor is the soul of patience. I think maybe one reason God put me in his care was to build up his patience for patients (not trying hard to sound cute!) and show him the worst right off the bat.

I have gone in for appointments in various stages of lucidity, fear, hysteria, depression, optimism... You name it, I've felt and shown it. And, through it all, my doc has been steady, hopeful, truthful and uplifting. He stays honest with me - not sugar-coating anything, but he doesn't ever make me feel like I'm  facing something I can't handle. Matter of fact, I could swear that he oftentimes has more confidence in me than I have in myself.

Most doctors (at least the few I'd previously seen) feel only responsible for the specific physical health issues of their patient. Like if you go to a doctor because you have migraines, they work to treat the headaches - ease them and find ways to maybe end them. They don't have to give a damn about whether or not you are depressed because you have the headaches, or whether your headaches make your life hell in general. They don't have to, but some do. My doctor does give a damn. I guess that about sums up my situation.

I think that if I were my doctor, I'd probably be ready to go into therapy by now. Probably I'd have to pray for strength, meditate or do some calming, stomach acid-cooling pill-popping just before an appointment. (I take that back. I would not be my doctor. Period.)

Actually, I have two doctors. The other one is a specialist. He's excellent and has been wonderful to me during my treatment. He's a little more remote. I know that he's had his "me." Somewhere, at some point, he had the patient like me who just broke him right in. I'm sure that's why doctors put up those cool exterior defenses - to keep from being worn down by so much caring. It's great to care, but I bet when you've got a bunch of patients to deal with, there's only so much of yourself to give.

So. I am thoroughly grateful to be my doc's patient at this time in his profession. Or maybe (and I really believe this might be the case), maybe my doctor is just in the right profession for his personality, character and depth of compassion. I think he may be one of the rare ones. One of those who won't "burn out" because his well of sincerity is deep enough to span his lifetime.

Oh, and I can't talk about my doctor without talking about some of the nurses I have been under care of. Talk about having to be a special kind of person! I could never be a nurse because all my feelings show so clearly. Apparently nurses have additional skills that concern facial muscles. During just that one stay in the hospital, I saw what these men and women really go through. I thought I was a unique pain in the ass. Noooo... I saw nurses having to deal with patients who went out of their way to be human headaches.

One of my hospital roommates had a knack for waiting until the nurses were at their busiest before she became a quality assurance tester for the Call button. She'd announce to me what her request was going to be just before she buzzed. "I'm going to need a snack because that meal was just flimsy." (Our meals were not the least bit "flimsy.)  Or, "I think they're going to have to give me a sleeping pill. I feel like I'll be up all night." (She was up all night because she watched TV and yakked on her cellphone.) People I know and love are fair game, but I hate being rude to strangers, so I'd just vaguely acknowledge this woman and then go back into my stupor of boredom. She'd lean on that buzzer until I just knew everyone at the Nurses' Station was visualizing a strangulation, Hell, if I'd been lucid enough, I'd've done it for them and claimed emotional duress or something. Did those nurses grit their teeth or roll their eyes or, I don't know, come in and slap the tastebuds off this woman's tongue? Nope. They came in just as if her every need was their only duty. Wow. Just a beautiful bunch of folks they were. (And me with my crazy ass, I couldn't remember not a specific name when I was surveyed later! That has bothered me a lot ever since. The best I could do was indicate the dates I was in their care.)

So, if you are ever sick enough to need a doctor or a hospital and nurses, be thankful for the good ones. Be nice to nurses. It takes special people to do such a disgusting and stressful job with a smile and kind word.


Peace
--Free

A Lovely Day

Summer is coming.

I can't wait to sit in the sunshine and just... be.

Maybe ride in a car with my hand out the window.

Or find a pretty spot outside and dance a little.

Have some wine.

Smile and think of pleasant memories.

Be thankful for family and friends.

Thank God for His bringing me through some things.

Smell the air, feel the breeze, glow in the sun.

I am for sure going to play this song and dance a little, smile a lot and be thankful...

Peace
--Free

(P.S.: And, yeah, I will be thinking of you & you know who you are...)

Futuristic Architecture?

Was over on G+ where someone posted this. Fascinating to think about, but one of my G+ pals and I were wondering exactly how living in one of these buildings would work. I commented to him that I'd rather be the neighbor that could just observe it. His question: "How would you enter the building?" I wonder that myself because, as I told him, I have trouble with revolving doors. (That's actually not a joke. I am the woman who reacts to revolving doors like someone trying to jump in a a fast game of jump rope.)

Still, this is quite a strange idea...

The more I look at this, the more questions I have, like: Who are going to clean the windows? SMH... This looks like something the Antichrist would live in! LOL

Peace
--Free

Writer's Note (or) Beautiful People

I haven't written anything (creatively) in several months - not since before my diagnosis. The other day, I began to feel something stir. Don't know what it will lead to, but I have a plot in mind and a few words in my head:


Beautiful people should never fall in love


Except with us


Those so longed for should be frozen in time


Or not exist at all


Because they break longing hearts


They get into the minds and dreams of other us


Beautiful, longed-for people


They make us want them and all we can not be


We are so


Beautifully done in


By the beautiful


Beautiful people

... We will see what I can do with this. Hope my brain cooperates.

Peace
--Free

R.I.P Whitney Houston

I started getting texts and social network notices the minute people heard that the singer Whitney Houston had died. My first thought was one of the sadness, then I hoped that her daughter, her mother, all her loved ones were not drowning in grief alone.

Of course, vulture that I can be, I checked out the news sites and gossips mags to get the latest tidbits of "information." How did she die? Where? Why? Who was with her?

As if it's any of my business. As if there is anything I can do to comfort her family or aid them in any way other than by being one of the many, many voyeurs of her musical ability and celebrity life. Not that the family might not appreciate the public displays of affection and mourning of her fans. I am sure they will, but there are levels of intimacy in these things that belong not with fans or this person's "public."

This poor woman was a product (largely) of her natural talent and a victim (mostly) of her celebrity. We fans are really strangers, knowing about her only what was exposed. We don't have a vested emotional right to her life other than what we have to every other human being in the world. We don't lose anything familial or "ours" by the loss of her. We don't have, really, any more right to "mourn" her than we do to mourn any of the many names in the Obituary page of any newspaper. Her celebrity makes us feel we do, but we don't.  We can miss her voice, her talents, her contribution to an art, but, really, that's about it. Her family, her true personal friends - the assorted loved ones - they are the only one with a right to truly mourn. All the rest of us will move on with our lives, not being spiritually altered by her death. Possibly the mourning we do for celebrities is so much more about us than them.

This celebrity culture we live in has diseased us all a bit. We can't just let someone be talented without having to brand them and elevate them to some surreal being. If we didn't "celebritize" people, we couldn't claim some right to them. We couldn't justify our intrusion into their lives. Without celebrities, we might have to learn to just enjoy talent rather than be entertained by the talented.

So, I apologize for my bad manners. I offer condolences to the family as I would want offered by any stranger to mine. I apologize in advance for the ridiculous curiosity that I am going to be exhibiting throughout the circus the world is going to make of this situation.

We are all of us going to be dead. Some of us will be lucky enough not to have been put on pedestals of sand.

Peace
--Free

Love & Hate. Chris Rocked It

Now that I am not in a relationship, I find it easier to laugh at things like Chris Rock's take on being in love. Maybe this wouldn't be funny if I hadn't been so deep in love, but...



Yeah, it's rude and nasty, but that is some funny (and mostly true) stuff, so shut up cos I know you're laughing.

Peace
--Free

What Did Being Good Ever Get You?

There are a lot of things I don't understand about people, but the top 5 have to include:

- Why do some people have to be the Rice Krispy Treats lady... Remember the old commercial where the mom is making the very simple treat, but she throws flour all on her face and makes a mess of the kitchen so that her family thinks she slaved at it? There are people who, if they do anything for someone, they have to make themselves into a martyr. Always having to just mention or make a little joke of what a strain their good deeds are. (I have noticed that these are the same people who never think of what was done for them. Maybe because their patrons never bring it up.)

- Why do some people have to pray for something and wish for something and crave something, then when they get it, all they can do is talk about the negatives? It's like wishing to own a Ferrari then always making a big deal of the price of gas.

- Why do some people have such sharp eyesight and sensitivity to their every pet peeve, but never see that they tap dance on other folk's nerves every freaking moment of time??? (Once, again, maybe that's because they squeak about their crap all the time and others don't.)

- Why is that the most annoying, frustrating, irritating people in the world are the most easily annoyed, frustrated and irritated? It's as though they wear life's glasses facing wrong side out.

- Why is it so hard for people to just be and do the best they can - just because it is the right thing?

***

Okay, yes, I can be all of the above, but I work at not being that way. I try to catch myself  and stop immediately when I drift into, say, Rice Krispy Treat mode... My biggest problem is that, the older I get, the more I notice these things about others. Maybe I never saw it before because I never had to. 

One thing that worries me about myself is that I am becoming very regretful. I am almost starting to regret many of the things I ever sacrificed for others. I am fighting not to regret the things I didn't do for myself so that I could do for others. I am fighting not to regret the money spent, the time spent - the worry and care that I truly felt. But I am really having to fight it hard.

That scares me.

I don't want to regret these things. 

***

I once knew someone who walked away from one huge part of her life to satisfy another part. Her walking-away words (to those of us who stood by watching with our mouths hanging open in shock at her choice) were a question I think about a lot these days: "What did being good ever get you?"

I am trying my damnedest not to have to ask myself that same question. Especially since my time for making different choices is long behind me.

Peace

--Free

Goodbye Jerry

Another of the people I got to know while going with my sister to dialysis was a man named Jerry.

For the first couple of years that I saw them there, Jerry and his wife would come to the center in their big wide-body truck. She would be driving, of course, and it always tickled me a little to see her jump down from the drivers seat. (She is about 5 foot even and weighs around 95 pounds from the look of it!)

Back in those first days of seeing them, Jerry was walking. He would get out of the passenger seat on his own. The two of them would stand in front of the entrance for a moment where he would lean down from his almost 6 foot tall height to give his wife a kiss. Whether they knew it or not, this was always their little gift to me, the woman who has always seemed to fail at love.

So, for two years I witnessed the love, humor and devotion between these two elderly people. She, faithfully, tirelessly, making the drive in with her husband. He, accepting his role as passenger, accepting his wife's care. Sometime I could see a sheen of frustration, weariness and exasperation between them, but that aura of love never dimmed as far as I could tell.

My sister and I didn't get to the center as much for another two years while she did her treatments at home. When she did start more regular visits (while doing a different type of home treatment) we saw that things had changed some for Jerry and his wife as well. For one thing, the huge truck had been replaced by some type of small vehicle that seemed not quite as sturdy. (Jerry later told me that their children had recommended the change as a something more fitting to their mom's physical abilities. Climbing into and jumping down from the truck had gotten to be too much for her. Jerry preferred the truck because he felt it kept his wife safe in the Alaska weather and traffic.)

The other thing that broke a small piece of my heart was that Jerry was now in a wheelchair. He had to be helped out of the vehicle and into the chair by either his wife or, sometimes, one of the attendants at the clinic. His wife always hovered nearby, supervising the transfer. They still paused at the entrance to kiss, hug, reassure.

One day a couple of months ago, I happened to overhear an attendant refer to Jerry by his surname, which I had never bothered to know.  I was a little startled because I recognized the fairly uncommon name as also belonging to an old acquaintance of one of my brothers.

Hmmm...

I called and asked my brother about this guy's father. Turned out that "my" Jerry was the father of "Hugh."

The next time I saw Jerry, I mentioned the connection and he was as amused as I was.

"Small world, kid." (Okay, he was in his late 70's so it's okay with me that I'm 50 and he called me "kid.")

"Sure is, Jerry. Sure is."

About three weeks ago, not feeling well at all, I dropped my sister off at the clinic and returned home to rest. When she called me halfway through her session, I thought it was because she'd forgotten something at home or in the car so I answered, ready to tease her. I knew something was wrong the minute she said my name.

"Jerry died."

I swear my heart actually ached.

"One of the techs just told me," she said.

Jerry's wife had actually stayed with him for his treatment that day - something that didn't happen often since they had gotten older. He'd had a great treatment, had been his usual charming self, joking with everyone, teasing the techs, flirting with his wife.

When his treatment was over and he'd been un-tethered from the machine, he just suddenly dropped and died. He'd had a heart attack.

I thought of his wife. I thought of how she happened to be there on that day. Blessing or curse, I don't know.

I thought of how they'd always shared a kiss and a moment. And then I remembered something else.

One time when we were talking and I mentioned Jerry's wife, he had called her "my sweet girl." I can't remember the conversation, but he had said something like, "I have to see about it for my sweet girl there."

His sweet girl.

Of course, my sister and I wondered how Jerry's sweet girl was doing in the days after his death. We wanted to be able to send condolences - a card or a call, something.

Days passed with no newspaper obituary, no information passed along from the clinic staff. Nothing.

The other day, I Googled for information and found out that this family has had their share of heartaches.  Untimely deaths of children and such. And now, the patriarch gone.

Maybe there will be no services. Maybe they are just dealing with their loss in a very closed and private way. I can respect that. I don't really need a funeral to say goodbye in my heart.

Rest in peace, Jerry. God will keep watch over your sweet girl.

Peace
--Free

Everyday People

I am always thinking about why people are the way they are. I have not figured that out - and probably never will since I don't think I am intended to. So, while I don't understand WHY people are the way they are, I love watching THE WAY THEY ARE... And like with Edrick, I wonder how many people you know who:

~ Never makes mistakes.
Well, they DO, but they somehow manage to auto-correct history. For example, the person who rags on ANYone who runs a red light or has a fender-bender. Then when they have an accident that dang near rips off the hood of the car... Suddenly, there is a very logical reason. or else it's not that big a deal. Somehow, that accident never comes up without SOMEbody changing the subject. Give it a few weeks and you'd swear there had never BEEN any accident.

~ Can solve EVERY problem in the world.
This is the person who never just listens and empathizes when someone unburdens themself. Nooo... This is the one who wants to Dear Abby you to death. Everything you did that got you into a heartache, a debt, an argument... they are going to tell you exactly where you went wrong. This person doesn't know how to just be an ear and a shoulder. Solutions might be welcome later, but sometimes folks just need a friend, not Captain Fix-It-All.

~ ... Every problem, that is, but their own!
The same person saving people from themselves can also sometimes be the one mired in a mess of their own. (My mother used to wonder aloud if people like this "hear themselves.") It's disconcerting to hear a person talk at one point about their heartbreaking marital issues, then later express their brilliance in choosing the perfect partner. Every time this happens, I tune out the Hallelujah chorus and remember that some folks do their wishful thinking out loud.

~ Like picking on their cousins: Pot and Kettle
These are the ones who are so busy making note of their peeves to ever recognize their own annoying habits. I personally know people who will complain about noise and lights early in the morning, but sound like soldiers coming home from war every night on their way to bed.

~ Love you most in front of an audience
My favorite. Truly. These are the ones who just love you to pieces, always has your back and will never let a tear fall down your face. IF there is someone around to hear and appreciate this warm affection. It will really make your heart melt. Until you need anything after the audience has gone away. You can probably get what you need, but, boy oh boy, it WILL come with a price.

~Are not bad enough to make you not love them.
These are the majority in my case. Lord knows, I have my faults, so I have no problem loving my friends and family in spite of the "bruised" parts of their personalities. With only a couple of exceptions, I truly like AND love my people. I love the others, but other than that, I just use them as subjects for some of my blog postings! lol

So, um...

Peace
--Free